


i worry for the snow

by keep_swinging



Category: Z-O-M-B-I-E-S (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, References to Some Not So Good Stuff, Romance, but it's fine, for the one wyliza fic i'll probably write in all of my lifetime, make-out session, no but seriously there's a scene of that in here i went all out, that gets people to click on the story right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29457831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_swinging/pseuds/keep_swinging
Summary: Loving him is the best decision she's ever made, she thinks sometimes in the quiet moments between, as he holds her close, warm with power from the moonstone and love for her.
Relationships: Wyatt Lykensen/Eliza Zambie
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	i worry for the snow

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, happy Zombies 2 Anniversary! (I say, like, thirty-one minutes late because it's now past midnight lol) so roo requested this one a bit ago, and I was actually able to write it lol so here I am with new edits and the finished product. Enjoy and let me know what you thought down below, comments would make my night! :)
> 
> request: snowed-in wyliza  
> notes: canon-verse, college-aged, but on the older side.

"Honestly, it could be worse," he says calmly from his spot by the kitchen window, pulling back the curtain so that he can see outside. The snow is piling high, one inch after another, and so far it was looking like it was definitely going to be one snowed-in weekend for the both of them.

"Could it?" she snarks from the bathroom, busy running a brush through her dampened curls. "Because from my point of view, we're stuck in this shitty apartment, with nothing to do—"

"Well I mean, I can think of a few things we could do…"

"—and no one to talk to because the phone lines are down, until we're dug out."

He sighs loudly, making sure it echoes down the hall so that she can hear it. "Eliza, do you ever think that maybe something that seems so horrible could actually turn out to be a lot of fun?" The microwave beside him beeps and he leaves the kitchen window so that he can pull his plate from it, the smell of freshly baked nachos filling the apartment.

Eliza grumbles something from the bathroom that she knows he can hear. He doesn't miss the opportunity to roll his eyes and tease her about it anyway. "I'm sorry, what was that babe?" he calls back, grabbing his mug from the counter as he plops down on the living room couch. "Didn't hear what creative name you called me this time."

The couch groans under the pressure, and Wyatt can't help but wonder if the old thing has another hundred years in it or not, because he swears every time he takes a seat, there's an eighty-five percent chance that he's ending up impaled by the rusty springs.

"I said you're a fucking asshole," she repeats as she emerges from the bathroom, clad in an old stretched shirt of his and some striped pajama pants, wet towel in hand as she passes by him and toward their small laundry room. She throws it a moment later; it lands haphazardly on the side of the open washer.

"There's the girl I know," he chimes with a grin as he lifts a nacho to his mouth. "That was almost a three-pointer by the way."

"Shut up," she says as she comes back to the living room, pushing past his legs as she takes a seat next to him on the battered couch.

He smirks, "Make me."

She turns her head to the television and ignores him to the best of her ability as he continues eating, more than satisfied. She sits there and stews for a long moment, listening to him crunch chip after chip - loudly, _and_ obnoxiously - and eventually can't take anymore. "Do werewolves just naturally chew things loud as shit or is that just you?"

He laughs, pausing with a new chip halfway to his mouth to turn and look at her. She doesn't look at all amused with him. He can't help but think that pissing her off is half of his charm.

"I guess it's the fangs huh," he whispers, as seriously as he can, and he sees her cheeks turn a quick shade of pink before smirking and turning back to his plate of chips. He chews the next chip as noisily as possible, and does the same with the one after that. Before he can grab a third and fourth, the plate is being lifted off his lap and into another.

He turns and looks at her, raising an expectant eyebrow.

Eliza simply shrugs as she begins demolishing the rest of his snack. "What's yours is mine, isn't that how it goes?" she says nonchalantly in response, and Wyatt can barely sputter out an answer before she leans forward and steals his drink as well.

"Eliza you could at least share—"

He goes to grab a nacho from the plate but she ducks out of his way before he can. He glares at her. She hides her smile behind the rim of his cup. "Oh sorry, did you want some?" she asks, pitching her voice as sickly sweet as it can go and holding the plate out to him.

He rolls his eyes and reaches for the food. He's prepared for when she goes to pull it out of his reach this time, moonstone glowing as he catches the side of the plate before she can, freezing it still in between them. Eliza glances down at his necklace and then back up at him, finding herself looking into his eyes.

(It was his golden eyes that had caught her that thundering evening, his teeth that had bared under the slide of the rain, his claws pushing into the throats of humans greedy for something that wasn't owed to any of them. His necklace had shone brighter than the lightning that had slashed through the sky, brighter than the fear that had then settled into the backs of the humans' eyes.

He didn't blink twice as he threw them as far as his muscles would allow, their skin skidding across rugged pavement. He didn't blink twice at their cries, at the screams that tore from their cracked lips. He didn't blink twice at the blood underneath her as he reached out a hand and helped her stand, her fingers latching onto his shirt.)

((He doesn't regret going back to finish them off, after.))

"Hey there," he mumbles, breaking her of the memory, locking her in the present. The plate is now placed securely on the coffee table, along with the mug, and his face is inches from hers; watching, waiting.

"Hey," she breathes, nearly all the fight washed out of her.

Only he could do that to her - render her useless whenever he was close enough to kiss, to hug, to love. She thinks she hates it, being so vulnerable in front of somebody so open-hearted. He wore his heart on his sleeve and she never once envied that, because that was a dangerous way to live, and yet…her eyes flutter back down to his necklace, loose around his neck. His heart was as open as the necklace, laid bare for everyone and anyone to see. So easy to see and to grab and to destroy, if someone wanted. She thinks she hates that too, how easily he could be ripped from her.

"Do you ever think that this is holding you back?" she whispers, reaching out and grabbing at his necklace. She nearly pulls it from his neck, for some reason - _just to see_ , her mind begs, much like it had when she had asked him to take off her Z-Band for the second time in her life, _just to see_ , the monster inside of her had called, like a mantra.

He doesn't stop her.

He knows she hates how much he trusts her, how easy it is for him _to_ trust. It takes her months, years, if that.

"Like your Z-Band was?" he whispers back to her, his hands reaching out to cradle her scarred wrist, his fingers gently tracing the red skin and blistered veins, forever stained with the mark of their maker.

It's hideous, she knows.

Wyatt acts like it isn't.

"Like my Z-Band was," she echoes, softly. His claws catch on the holes the band had left, from the bolts meant to keep such a creation in place, and his blood boils at the thought of humans marking each zombie with a number until there were no zeros left.

(He had shown Eliza the wild once, shown her just how free the werewolves were. He remembers the smile on her face, the thrill of her laughter, the crinkle of her eyes.

He had wanted to stay out there with her forever, and call the rest of their lives just that.)

"No," he finally tells her as she twirls the moonstone around and around her fingers. "The moonstones aren't meant to control us. They're part of us, and without it, we wouldn't be who we are."

(Her Z-Band sits destroyed in her dresser, hidden under old clothes she hasn't worn in years. She still doesn't know why she couldn't bring herself to toss it, once and for all.

She thinks it's fear that keeps it there, never far out of reach.)

She's quiet for a long time, and when her eyes finally meet his again, it feels like it's been far too long since he's last looked into them. He almost tells her she's beautiful right then and there.

She pushes her lips to his before he can, hard, bruising. The words he had wanted to say fall and fade away as he smirks and grabs her hips, bringing her close, and she climbs the rest of the way, his back pressing against the couch cushions as she kisses him like this is the last time.

He hopes it isn't.

He kisses her back with just as much passion, and when they break away he moves to her neck because he can't get enough of her, and her hands find their way under his shirt. Her fingers are quick to find the hem of his shirt a moment later, and she only has to tug at the material once before he breaks away from her, pulling the shirt over his head and then throwing it to the floor.

Her heart feels as though it's on fire, and every kiss he gives her just adds fuel to the flames, stoking them until they're roaring. He lights up something inside of her that no one else ever has, gives her so much love that she thinks she could drown in it if she doesn't pay close attention. It's almost a dangerous game in an almost dangerous world, but Eliza is fine to play for keeps.

Their cheeks are red and their hands are roaming, and it's much like a dream she wouldn't ever dare to voice. His claws catch on the cold skin of her back; her fingernails press greedily against the hard lines of his abdomen, and everything, for a long moment, is perfect.

She doesn't even realize that it happens.

Wyatt notices it as soon as it starts, the sudden shaking of her hand, from slow to steady to uncontrollable, spasming against his hot skin. In the midst of it, one of her nails accidentally slices his stomach, and he can smell the metallic tang without having to look down.

Eliza doesn't understand why he stops kissing her, suddenly pulling back until she can see his eyes in full. There's something sad there, an understanding that she _doesn't_ understand, and she's breathless and confused and something grips at her heart and reminds her that maybe true love isn't so true after all.

Before she can find the will to speak, to ask why, he gently grabs her by the arm and turns over her hand in his. Only then does she see the shaking for herself, only then does she know that it's even happening at all. There's blood on one of her fingers, and she goes to reach her other hand across to wipe it away, but he beats her to it, his fingers swiping over her nail. After the red is gone, he gently intertwines his fingers between each of hers as he sits with her for a moment, attempting to quell the trembling as best he can.

He's practiced in this by now, she knows - she hates.

A few minutes later, when the shaking turns less aggressive, she watches him as he stands and grabs the washcloth that still sits by the sink from earlier, dampening it again and wringing it out.

He comes back and carefully wraps it around the entirety of her hand, mindful of her wrist as he goes. The cold helps with the trembles, slows them down until it eventually stalls them completely, but until then, she's able to do nothing but sit and wait.

Anger swells in her gut as he takes his seat beside her, not bothering with his shirt even as the temperatures outside dip to well below freezing. She can see his moonstone necklace out of the corner of her eye, asleep when he isn't threatened, full of priceless power that will never go waste.

She doesn't want to be...to be reduced to this, every day of her life.

(Learning, testing, living.

Life without a Z-Band was never meant to be easy.)

It's the darker part of her that tells her to reach over and rip the stone from his neck and wrap it around her own - _it'll heal you_ , a childish part of her pleads, _it'll fix you_ , hisses the black hole she can't escape, from the very day she had decided she could do better without a band.

Her hand is still shaking.

She can't feel it, long numb to the after-effects of not having a Z-Band.

("Eliza, I just don't want anything to happen to you," he finally admits from the edge of the forest, the rustling trees and bushes and branches as his backdrop. His eyes are full of worry when she meets them. "I care about you too much."

"You could never," she responds almost automatically, her heart aching at the revelation. His shrug is so nonchalant that she nearly wants to beat her fists against his chest until one of them breaks.

"I do.")

((The after-effects were everything he was worried about, in the end.))

Wyatt doesn't flinch when she turns towards him and reaches for his necklace with her good hand, his eyes following her fingers as they curl around the blunt edges and grasp at the core.

His entire world fades to black and white when she pulls it from his neck. Without hesitation she goes to wrap it around her own; he says nothing as he watches her struggle with clasping the back, he says nothing as she sits and waits for the ancient power to flow through and save her like it had done before, on a night bitter with rain and wind and thunder so deep it shook the very ground.

(She forgets that it was him who saved her, not the stone around his neck.)

Tears prick her eyes after a while. Wyatt is silent for a long time before he decides to finally speak. "It won't work," he tells her, gently, knowingly. He still doesn't reach for his necklace. "You're different from me."

She laughs. It's devoid of any humor. "I know," she whispers, sounding so unlike herself now, upset and tired and worried and endless. "Sometimes I just wish I wasn't a monster at all."

Wyatt reaches an arm out and wraps it around her, pulling her to his chest. She rests her head against him and rests her hand over his heart, content to feel it beat. His skin is still hot to the touch.

("Are you always like that?" she asks him in a voice so quiet that it sounds like someone else's, his back turned to her as he struggles with lighting the fireplace. The rain is still coming down in torrents outside, and lightning still glares from the window, followed by thunder that shakes the foundation of the house. It does nothing but remind her of the horror that had occurred only a few minutes before - before he had come along.

He spares her a glance over his shoulder, his hands still occupied by the damp logs he had fetched from her back porch. "Like what?"

Her old childhood home was one of the lucky ones to have a fireplace. She can still remember the warmth of it saving her from countless frostbitten evenings in the winter, her hands curled tightly in her mother's crocheted blanket.

"Warm," she whispers, pulling the blanket he had found her as close to her as she could. She was freezing, but she knew it wasn't from the rain. She could still smell the blood that had clung to her skin, even though the rain had long washed it away.

He's silent as he messes with the fireplace, readjusting the logs and lighting another match in an attempt to set them aflame. She's not bothered by the fire, not like she should be. But after something like this, how could something so small hurt her?

Humans had hurt her in a way she wouldn't be able to forget, not fire or flames or ashes.

It's almost like something good had come from it, she thinks, but then her stomach rolls and twists and she feels sick instead.

"It's from the moonstone I think," he answers, watching as the fire finally catches, as tiny flames hiss and pop and begin to spread to everything they can reach. She can see him smile and sit back on his heels, still tending to the logs here and there with the tips of his claws. "To be honest with you, it's not the best thing to have when it's summer."

It's odd to talk to him so many years after high school, when he is so similar and so different from who he used to be. He is the same Wyatt that she has always known, and yet now there were other things about him that weren't there before.

A tear slips down her cheek.

She doesn't know why.

((She knows exactly why.))

He turns his head when she doesn't reply, and immediately stands and goes to her when he sees that she is crying, her hands shaking from where they sit balled in her lap. He wraps her in his arms, tries to find words that will help, but settles on silence when she reaches up and grasps at the front of his shirt.

She holds onto him until she can't.)

"I'd be so much better off," she mumbles, but her words are angry now, snarling. Wyatt leans down and leaves a kiss in her hair. It's shorter than it was, full of dead ends and short curling whisps. Everytime she looks in the mirror she swears the color is darker.

She wonders if she's going to lose that next.

"You wouldn't be," he swears, holding her even closer to him. "You're too great for a life as simple as a human's." His heart continues to beat, one after another, and she closes her eyes and wonders how much longer she has to listen to it, wonders just how much of their time is limited and how much of it is limitless.

Outside, the snow continues on, unwavering as it grows and grows and grows. The streets are covered in white, streetlights sparkling with glistening snowflakes, the roads bare of anything at all, and the sky is a swirling grey.

Inside, they settle in and weather the storm.

Wyatt holds Eliza as close as he can, her eyes shut as his eyes watch the soft inhale and exhale of her chest, his moonstone necklace still sitting in waiting around her neck. If he could share the power it gave him, he would, in an instant. He'd give her everything and then some. But no matter how much he wills it to be, the moonstone stays colorless against her, and he is the only one it will ever answer to.


End file.
